"A cocktail lounge?"
Whatever I'd been expecting when I stepped through Dor's door, it wasn't booths upholstered in blood-red velveteen, a long polished-wood bar, and a small stage set with a microphone and a chair.
I would've just called it a bar — I mean, I didn't have any pretentions to being Frank Sinatra — except that Ruby's Cocktail Lounge was written on the wall over the bar in loopy gold script.
"Seriously? And where are we?"
The place was empty, as you'd think it would be in the middle of a Tuesday, with curtains pulled back from the front windows to let in natural light.
It had a seedy vibe all the same, like the ghosts of all the dicks sucked in the corners of the room were haunting the place even when the bar, sorry, lounge, was closed and the drunks were at work nursing their hangovers.
Lucian's grip loosened a little, but he didn't let me go or move from my side so much as an inch. "Kind of cliché, isn't it? You know. The red velvet, the vampire thing…"
